


Give Me A Reason To Be

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [30]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Multiple Doctors (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: "There is, you know, surprisingly, always hope."The Doctor meets a woman in a long blue coat, who imparts some quiet wisdom to him in a sleepy Yorkshire market square.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Twelfth Doctor, Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Take Me To The Stars [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139201
Comments: 18
Kudos: 176





	Give Me A Reason To Be

The Doctor knew, of course. He always knew when a version of himself was nearby; he couldn’t explain why or how, but there was something on the periphery of his consciousness that seemed to alert him to the proximity of his past or future selves. It was inevitable, after all, that he might bump into them; there was an entire universe to explore, and yet he found himself returning to the same planet time and time again; found himself drawn irresistibly back to Earth, and so occasional run-ins were an unavoidable fact of his complex, multi-faceted life. They faded from his memory like smoke, the timelines converging and fraying as they interwove and then broke apart, but where he could, he tried to make small notations in the notebook he kept in his left breast pocket, purely for posterity’s sake. They were hurried, sloppy graphite lines, but he could count them on his fingers and wonder about conversations had and details that slipped from lips like water, trying and failing to remember what they had talked about, or who, or why.

He tried, as a rule, to avoid his future selves. In the words of his wife, he disliked spoilers, and he disliked knowing any snippets of his future life, even if only for the few moments he could recall them. He never tried to note those down; never tried to hold onto them – they were surprises yet to come, and he would experience them in real time when the situation was right. There was no point fretting and fussing about things that were yet to come to pass; it would do little to alter the course of events, and the paradox loops he might invoke if he were tempted to change what was to come could prove catastrophic – for both himself and the universe.

His past selves were, in some ways, equally irksome. The younger fellows could find it hard to comprehend that one day their eternal beauty and smooth skin might fade into his grey hair and lined face, and would often refuse to believe the veracity of his words until he was forced to prove himself in some undignified way or another. Not everyone could avoid ageing, he supposed, although he could still hardly be considered over the hill; he still recalled true old age from his previous self’s time on Trenzalore, or his first self, and he thought it might perhaps do the younger chaps well to be informed, even fleetingly, that nothing lasts forever, least of all good health and youthful skin.

He wasn’t seeking adventure today, or even seeking trouble. He was simply spending a day, as he often did now, on his own on Earth, quietly doing human things like browsing second-hand bookshops and complaining about the authenticity of their so-called first editions, or going for long, rambling walks and trying to step on particularly crisp-looking autumn leaves. Perhaps it was a sign of his age, he thought to himself ironically; the older he seemed to grow, the more like a human he found himself behaving, but he couldn’t bring himself to condemn his own actions for they brought him great comfort in times of stress. Being away from the university was a breath of fresh air; being away from the pressures of guarding a vault containing his greatest enemy was a weight off his chest.

This was supposed to be a quiet jaunt to the north of England; a quick amble around a Yorkshire town, browsing the farmers’ market in search of the perfect strawberry jam, stopping for a pot of tea in a quiet tearoom full of people old enough to make him feel – at least in terms of appearance – young. But there it was, lapping at the edges of his attention; there was another him here, somewhere, and he was drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

Slipping out of the bookshop he had been browsing – with little success, for this particular corner of the world was lacking in much literature beyond Mills and Boon or shudder-inducing war novels – he looked around, trying to spot the likely cause of his niggling feeling. Stood in the centre of the square was a loose knot of four or five people, and they parted to reveal a woman wearing a long, duck-egg blue coat, her blonde hair tumbling down from behind her ears as she laughed.

He knew, of course. At once, he knew. And so, it seemed, did she, for she excused herself from her companions – they couldn’t all travel with her, surely? Sometimes the TARDIS felt crowded enough with Bill and Nardole – and approached him with a wary smile.

“Hello,” she said warmly, her accent pleasantly similar to that of the locals. “Old friend.”

“Hello,” he said, returning her smile, feeling immediately more at ease. “Future friend.”

“What brings you to Yorkshire?”

“What brings _you_?” he countered, gesticulating vaguely towards her, as though trying to indicate the physicality of her accent. “You seem… at home.”

“I am at home,” she beamed. “My friends are from Sheffield, and so it would seem am I.”

“Are they…” he began, unsure how to phrase his question, and he flicked his gaze over to the small group curiously. “Are they _all_ your friends?!”

“Yes,” his future self turned and looked at them with a fond smile, giving them a little wave, which they returned after a moment’s pause. Undoubtedly, they were confused; it wasn’t often that your friend slipped away to speak to mysterious strangers, and it was not every day that they would be unable to even recall the meeting in a few minutes. “Ryan, his grandad Graham, and Yaz.”

“Isn’t the TARDIS…”

“Full?” she laughed, pre-empting his words before he could voice them. “It’s an infinite ship! It can’t exactly be full.”

“But…”

“I know,” she said, somehow knowing what he was going to say, and he was grateful not to have to elucidate it aloud. “I know you like your peace and quiet, but things change. In more ways than one.”

“Yes,” he smiled, then realised he needed to address the elephant in the… well, square. Sensitive subject, potentially, so again he gestured vaguely and mumbled: “I see you’ve… upgraded.”

“I’m not a Cyberman,” she shot back, but her smile only widened mischievously. “You’ve got this all to come.”

“I look forward to it, I think.”

“So you should,” she looked around them, and he realised she was looking for Bill, or the one he didn’t remember, or someone else. “Where’s…”

“Bill? She’s at her friend’s house for the day. They’re doing Netflix and chill, whatever that means. I think it’s a human thing; she got all embarrassed when I asked.”

“Ah,” she nodded sagely, shoving her hands in her pockets and then asking with blunt cheer: “Is this our melancholic period?”

“Our what?” he scowled.

“Oh, you know. Our period of going off on our own, wandering about England-”

“Oi, and Scotland!”

“And Scotland, hoping we might… bump into… a certain someone?”

“If you mean the woman I can’t recall, then I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” the Doctor said with a sad smile, and he loathed her ability to see through his lies. Well. He supposed she had once been him, so maybe it wasn’t so much that as simply recalling the truth of matters. “Don’t pretend you don’t. You’re looking for Clara, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he muttered reluctantly. “Yes, alright, I might be. So what?”

“So, nothing. I just wondered if you’re still in that period, and clearly you are.”

“You don’t seem very upset about Clara,” the Doctor noted, his tone almost accusatory as he scowled down at his future self. She seemed very small in stature, but then so did most people in his eyes. He supposed being tall couldn’t last forever. “Considering we both know how much she meant to us, albeit via fill-in-the-blanks.”

“I’m not upset about Clara,” she said with staggering frankness. “At all.”

“I…” he blinked her with horrified stupefaction. “How can you say that? How can you stand there and say that like an entire chunk of your life hasn’t just been wiped out? Like an entire part of you hasn’t been sucked away into the void, and you can’t even remember her face?”

“Because…” his future self dithered for a moment, and then she blurted: “She’s back in the TARDIS.”

“I…” he frowned, not understanding. “What?”

“She’s back in the TARDIS, waiting for me.”

“You know, this isn’t funny,” he snarled. “Really, not funny at all.”

“I know,” she said with seriousness, reaching over and clasping his hands in her own. When their skin touched, there was a short, sharp shock, which they both ignored as their eyes met, and there was something so earnest in her expression that he couldn’t help but believe her. “And I know you won’t remember this, but you will find her again. And when you do… when you do, it will all melt away. I promise you. All the years of isolation and loneliness and sadness? None of that will matter anymore. It’ll still be there, in your memories, but it’ll… it’ll all feel like it was worth it, to have her back.”

“I…”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before he could make any further enquiries. “It was good to see you.”

“But… I…”

She tipped him a wink. “Enjoy Yorkshire,” she half-sang, and then danced off back to her friends, the little band of four setting off up the high street in the fading evening light. As they rounded a corner, he blinked hard, then shook his head as though he’d been underwater.

He felt strange; light-headed and vague and hazy as to what had just happened.

Understanding broke over him like water, and he reached into his breast pocket for his notepad.


End file.
